The Iron Revenant cut through the midnight sea like a silent executioner.
The waves had calmed in the wake of the storm, but a strange stillness gripped the ocean now—unnaturally smooth, like oil. Darion stood on the forecastle, elbows resting on the cold iron railing, his eyes fixed on the distant line where sea met sky. He could feel the Wakefire Core pulsing softly under his coat, like a second heartbeat.
"It's getting stronger. Closer."
The words echoed not in his ears, but in his mind—faint, like the whisper of embers stirring in an old hearth.
Behind him, the ship creaked softly with the wind. Lanterns flickered with an eerie blue glow, each powered by mana-infused crystal shards. The sailors of the Iron Revenant, still silent and masked, went about their duties with mechanical precision.
They move like ghosts, Darion thought. Are they even human beneath those masks?
He heard a soft footfall behind him and didn't need to turn to know it was Seraphina.
"You've been out here for hours," she said, her voice carrying a gentle lilt despite the ever-present chill. "Haven't even touched the food."
"Not hungry," he replied without looking. "You ever feel like something's watching you through the waves?"
She moved beside him, wrapping a dark cloak tighter around herself. "All the time. That's how you stay alive out here."
He finally looked at her. Moonlight kissed her features—the scars, the silver piercings, the storm-hardened eyes. She was equal parts danger and warmth.
"Ashvale," she said after a pause. "I thought it was a myth. A cursed island swallowed by the sea during the Old Empire's fall."
Darion nodded. "Vane said the Chain of Echoes is there. Another relic."
"Which means more monsters. More forgotten truths." She glanced at him. "More things that want to eat you."
"Sounds like a vacation."
She chuckled, but there was no humor in it. "I've seen this before, you know. The obsession. That gleam in the eyes. Men who go chasing relics and come back broken—or don't come back at all."
Darion's expression hardened. "I'm not chasing power."
"Aren't you?"
The question hung in the air between them, heavier than the sea mist.
"I'm chasing answers," he said. "About the Core. About my past. About why it chose me."
Seraphina stared at him for a long moment, then nodded. "Then let's make sure the sea doesn't take you before you find them."
Before Darion could respond, a low bell tolled from the crow's nest above. Once. Twice. Three times.
The sound was hollow, mournful—like a funeral bell.
"Landfall," a voice called out across the deck. "Ashvale in sight!"
Darion's pulse quickened.
He and Seraphina rushed to the bow. In the distance, a dark mass of land emerged from the mist, jagged cliffs rising like fangs from the ocean's maw. Strange blue fireflies danced above the treeline, and a perpetual storm cloud hovered over its central peak. Lightning arced silently between the clouds, as if held back by some invisible force.
A stone spire jutted from the island's northern ridge—tilted, broken, but still standing. Ancient. Forgotten.
And beneath it, the ruins of a temple, its arches carved with twisted shapes—screaming faces, chained beasts, and spiral symbols that made Darion's skin crawl.
"Ashvale," Seraphina whispered. "And she's just as ugly as the stories said."
The ship slowed as the crew began preparing the longboats. Captain Alaric Vane descended from his private quarters, flanked by two of his elite guards.
"You will go ashore with a small escort," he announced, his voice cutting through the morning haze. "The Chain is rumored to be buried beneath the Temple of Echoes. You'll know it when you hear it—because the dead don't rest quietly on this isle."
Darion raised an eyebrow. "What kind of resistance are we expecting?"
"Undead," Vane said without hesitation. "Bound spirits. Echo-born. Perhaps even worse. Ashvale is a wound on the world."
Kellen, already suited up and checking his crossbow, muttered, "Great. Ghosts. I love ghosts."
Vane tossed a red flask toward Darion. "Holy fire. Blessed by seers. If a spirit touches you—use that."
Darion caught it, the liquid sloshing inside with a thick glow. "What about you?"
Vane's eyes narrowed. "I do not step foot on cursed ground unless I must. That is your task. But remember—if the Chain awakens, it will call others. Not all of them friendly."
A horn blared. The longboat was ready.
Darion, Seraphina, Kellen, and three masked soldiers boarded it. As they rowed ashore, the water grew colder, darker. Fish skeletons floated just below the surface. The beach was a graveyard of shipwrecks—splintered hulls and rusted anchors strewn like broken bones.
They stepped onto the black sand in silence.
"I feel it," Darion said, hand brushing the Core inside his coat. "Something's under the ground."
Seraphina knelt, fingers running through the sand. "No animals. No birds. No sound. This island is dead."
One of the soldiers signaled with a flick of his fingers. The group moved inland, through overgrown jungle paths lined with cracked stone markers—each bearing strange runes in a language none of them could read.
Darion paused by one of them.
"Ashes remember. Echoes endure. Chains must never break."
He whispered the words aloud. Kellen looked at him. "Where did you—?"
"I don't know," Darion said quietly. "The Core… it's feeding me things."
The deeper they went, the heavier the air grew. The mist thickened. Light bent strangely through the trees. Time seemed to stretch and collapse at random intervals. And then they heard it.
Whispers.
Faint. Not in the air—but in their bones.
"Darion," Seraphina said, eyes wide. "Do you hear that?"
He nodded, unsheathing his cutlass. "Something's trying to talk to us."
The ruins appeared like phantoms through the mist. Crumbled walls. Collapsed archways. Broken statues of winged beasts long turned to moss.
In the center stood the Temple of Echoes—a sunken circular structure made of obsidian stone, its entrance yawning like a black mouth.
Suddenly, one of the soldiers froze.
"Do you hear it?" the man said. His voice was wrong—too deep, like it came from behind his mask. "They're screaming. So loud."
He dropped his sword and began walking toward the temple in a trance.
"Hey!" Kellen shouted, grabbing his arm. "Snap out of it!"
But it was too late. The moment the soldier crossed the threshold, something exploded from the shadows—a mass of chain-wrapped flesh, bones, and eyes. It lunged, dragging the man into the dark with a scream.
"Contact!" Seraphina shouted, raising her blades.
Two more creatures emerged—one from the trees, another crawling down the temple's outer wall. They moved like insects, but with the coordination of soldiers. Their bodies were wrapped in cursed chains that clattered like broken teeth.
Darion activated the Wakefire Core.
Flames erupted from his cutlass, wreathed in golden-orange light. He charged the first creature, slashing wide. The blade cut through the shadowlike body—but it reformed, snarling.
"They don't die easy!" he shouted.
"Aim for the chains!" Seraphina said. "It's what's binding them here!"
Darion adjusted, his second slash striking one of the glowing red links coiled around the creature's chest. It shrieked—an unnatural sound that cracked the nearby trees—and disintegrated in a burst of black smoke.
Kellen fired bolt after bolt into another as Seraphina danced between claws and teeth, her movements graceful and brutal.
Darion turned, eyes landing on the temple's inner sanctum, now glowing faintly red.
"The Chain is in there," he whispered.
But something else was waking too.
The ground trembled.
And from the center of the temple, a massive chained figure began to rise. Its body was skeletal, formed from the remains of dozens of corpses. A crown of rusted iron sat atop its skull.
Its voice rumbled like thunder through a canyon.
"WHO DARES BREAK THE SILENCE?"
Darion's grip tightened around his blade.
"The past is screaming," he muttered. "And we're not leaving until we hear it out."